


never seen your appetite this occupied

by voodoochild



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Dom/sub Play, M/M, Obedience, Porn Battle, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 00:00:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie learns that sometimes, there are better uses for one's mouth than talking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never seen your appetite this occupied

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XIII, for the prompt "AR/Charlie, breathless, service". Title from Leonard Cohen's "The Smokey Life".

He didn't know _this_ was what AR meant when he said to be sure he washed thoroughly.

(He bathes, okay? Sometimes it's a quick whore's bath in Meyer's sink and sometimes it's as long as the hot water at the Vanderbilt holds out, but he's a long way from that dirty street kid who got his knuckles rapped by Joe the Boss for "stinking up" Jack's.)

Charlie had felt stupid, but questioning AR's requests only lead to disappointment and a long night with a working girl or his right hand instead of AR himself. He had even used the expensive soap as he washed, spreading eucalyptus and sandalwood (kinda queer, but he had to admit he smelled pretty good) over his body. AR's boiler was even better than the Vanderbilt's, water stinging hot and heavy down his back, and if he'd had second thoughts, they'd been banished by AR's second request.

"Between your legs, too, Charlie. And yes, I'll check."

Fuck. He'll never reach AR's limits - he should know that the Bankroll doesn't _have_ any, he should, but every single time he's surprised - and it doesn't stop making him so hard he can't see straight. His hand had scooped up the bar of soap before he could breathe, and he swore his knees were going to buckle at the first swipe of hot water and sharp-scented soap behind his balls. He tries not to touch his own ass too much, only enough to get clean. Slicks his dick up, base to tip, and tries in vain not to wonder if AR's going to suck him off tonight, too.

"If you bring yourself off," AR says idly, from the bedroom, "I promise you will regret it."

Mother of fucking god, yeah. All right. He can be a good boy for this.

He shuts the water off before the temptation to make himself come gets to be too much. There's a towel sitting on the edge of the sink that he didn't bring in with him, and he has to roll his eyes. His boss is a sneaky bastard, slipping in and out of the bathroom, which is ridiculous. It's his goddamn suite.

He towels off his hair and wraps the towel around his waist before he steps out into the bedroom. AR is sitting on the bed, back against the headboard, legs crossed at the ankle, and writing something in a notebook. Figures or whatever, it doesn't matter, because AR looks up and sets the book on the bedside table, a slow smile creeping across his face.

"What're you grinning at?" Charlie growls, just to be contrary, and leans against the wall.

AR raises that eyebrow of his. "You. Scrubbed clean for me. Squirming back and forth like I haven't had my mouth on every square inch of your body."

"There's a difference between getting my dick sucked and you puttin' your mouth on . . . you know."

If possible, AR's smile grows sharper and more mocking. Charlie could swear he's got fangs sometimes, even though that's ridiculous.

"Charlie. This is not a hard concept. Shut that very pretty mouth of yours, come over here, and within two minutes, you won't remember your own name, much less why it bothers you so much to fuck another man."

And the bitch of it isn't that AR is right - it's that nothing about that statement should make Charlie want to sink to his knees and just press his face to AR's belly. Feel his head go completely blank, his pulse hammer in his veins, his mouth water at whatever he's going to get. Maybe he's fucking certifiable, maybe it's wrong to put so much of yourself in someone else's debt.

So he straightens his back, finds the muscles and the courage to smirk at AR and drops the towel.

"Where do you want me, then?"

AR taps his lips with a finger, speculative gleam in his eyes. "Good boy. Over here, hands and knees, I think."

Charlie crawls onto the bed next to AR, just about settling before a hand around his wrist yanks him off balance. "Son of a-" he curses, because he's facedown in the pillows and his snake of a boss has just tugged his hips upwards. AR bites softly, just at the crease where his ass meets his legs, and Charlie tries in vain to keep from whimpering, turning his head into his arm.

"No, don't do that," AR says, breathing hot against his hip, "I want to hear you."

"C'mon, I can't -" the rest is lost in a groan as AR slides both hands around his thighs and opens him up. He's shaking, exposed, suddenly cold in the warm bedroom, and he bites his lip against everything that wants to come out. "Please, just - please."

There's a burn against his entrance, the swipe of a tongue where tongues definitely shouldn't fucking go, and oh, Christ, he's never going to be able to _look_ at AR's mouth again, is he?

"Please what, Charlie?"

He tries to speak, but the tongue is back, teasing little swipes in a circle and licking slow across his skin. His hips move without permission, canting back for more, more, more - and his dick jerks toward his stomach, hard and straining. How can something like this feel so fucking good? How can he practically be panting like a bitch for a man's tongue up his ass?

He grits it out, knowing better than to touch his dick without permission, and fisting his hands in the sheets. "Fucking do it."

"I'm going to need you to -" A bite to one asscheek, then the soothe of AR's tongue again. "Elaborate. You can be remarkably direct and expressive once you put your mind to it."

Son of a fucking bitch, he's going to murder AR one of these days. Pushy, smug, insufferable fucker who always, always gets what he wants, and Charlie might elaborate on that if AR weren't running his hands up and down his sides and humming against his entrance. Charlie's head falls forward and he gives up any pretense of not wanting to be fucked with AR's tongue.

"Your tongue, goddamnit! I want it up my ass, want you to lick me. Fuck me with it."

"I didn't hear a-"

"Fucking please," Charlie yells, and feels more than hears AR laugh. "Oh yeah, you think it's fucking hilarious now, but I swear to God, one of these days I'll surprise you. I'll - oh Jesus fuck - I'll tie you to the bed with your own fucking bow ties and I'll make you fucking cry for it."

AR's voice, damn him, is still calm and smooth. "Will you now?"

"Yeah, and I - oh fuck, please - I think I'd make you suck my cock. Kneel over you and fuck your mouth till you choke. You - ahhh - you'd look good like that."

And he tries, he really does - to follow directions, but god, AR's finally just going for it. Giving Charlie exactly what he'd asked for; the slick push of his tongue in and out of Charlie's hole, filthy wet sounds from it. Can barely think, much less speak, all his English is getting jumbled up with gutter Sicilian and entirely too-needy Italian, and he sobs into the sheets instead. Pushes back against wet, hot pressure and wants to come more than he wants to breathe.

Sudden chill from where AR's pulled his mouth away, and Charlie looks over his shoulder to find AR - still in shirtsleeves and a fucking vest, even at 3 in the morning - with a canary-eating grin on his face. He loosens his trousers, just enough to shove over his hips, and presses the heel of his hand to his cock. Nice to see AR's as hot for this as he is.

"You can touch yourself now, Charlie. Go ahead."

AR hasn't said anything about not-touching him, and Charlie tackles his boss into the sheets. Slings a leg across AR's hips and lines their cocks up in his fist. AR's head tips back on a low groan, and Charlie pulls the collar of his shirt apart to bite at the line of AR's neck. Feels the man shudder against him, shoving into his grip and winding fingers through his hair. AR gets grabby when he's almost there, pulls hair and leaves bruises on arms and hips, though Charlie doesn't exactly mind.

One, two, three more pulls, and Charlie's there, spilling hot and wet all over his fist and their bellies. He goes languid, floating on good sex and the way he can drive the Bankroll out of his steel-trap mind. It doesn't take too long to make AR come. Once Charlie grips his cock tighter and licks slyly at the corner of AR's mouth, his hips stutter, and he curses in astonishingly-filthy Yiddish before coming with a low moan.

It must have been a hell of a fuck, Charlie realizes, when AR takes a good ten minutes to recover and walks into the bathroom to rinse out his mouth. He certainly isn't complaining, because he gets a fresh-mint kiss and his curls tugged when AR comes back.

"Ow," he says. "Gonna tear it out."

"Yes, all right."

AR strokes more gently, and Charlie relaxes into the sheets. He's drowsing off, barely noticing when AR pauses to strip off his shirt and trousers and shorts and sliding back into bed.

He could really get used to this.


End file.
